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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046623">of pretzels and painkillers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriesofloves/pseuds/mysteriesofloves'>mysteriesofloves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gilmore Girls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Pre-Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:14:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriesofloves/pseuds/mysteriesofloves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Her leg is elevated, smiling bright despite the bandages.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luke Danes/Lorelai Gilmore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>of pretzels and painkillers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on the bit in “rory’s birthday parties” where lorelai mentions breaking her leg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1997-ish</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Luke? It’s my mom, she’s – she’s hurt, she’s at the hospital in Hartford, and Sookie has this lunch, she can’t – I don’t know what to do, she broke her femur – my mom, not Sookie – or maybe it was her fibula? Or both, maybe, is the fibula in the leg? I should know this, it’s – this is Rory, by the way, God – this is really going to bug me –“</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All right, sweetie. I’ll be right there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is how he ended up in the middle of the emergency room staring pointedly at the scuff of his shoes, humming to himself like a real basket case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Mr. Gilmore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Luke says, looking up, which — bad idea. He shakes his head, taking an intense interest in the lines of the linoleum floor again. “No, definitely not. That’s her dad, probably, I’m guessing. I’m not – I’m her – I’m not her </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> really –“</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“LUKE? </span>
  </em>
  <span>IS THAT LUKE?! LUUUKE.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s me,” he says, jamming his thumb back at himself, cautiously glancing up. “I’m her Luke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her leg is elevated, the mechanical beep of the monitor so much slower than the beat of his own heart when he sees her, smiling bright despite the bandages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened to you?” he says softly, lowering himself on the chair next to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yoga!” Lorelai cheers. “See, Luke, staying fit is dangerous. I never broke my leg sitting on the couch eating Mallomars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The damage that does is long term.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a long term kinda gal. No, siree, I’m a here and now lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here and now lady who’s taken an interest in yoga?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lady on Oprah made it look fun! And so did that blonde in my class, twisting like a pretzel – </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretzels. Could you find me pretzels?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can find you pretzels.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only reason that blonde isn’t sitting here next to me is because the silicone broke her fall,” she frowns down at her chest. “Maybe I need some of that. Like a portable airbag!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Airbags can kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently so can Mallomars. And yoga. It’s a dangerous world we live in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is at that.” He reaches out, unsure of himself, letting his hand set next to hers, drumming his fingers on the thin blue sheets. “Do you want me to call someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! You know, Sookie knows, Rory knows. That’s all I’ve got and that’s all I need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places his hand over hers, but can only let it stay there for a moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me too,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he gets there, the doors open, and he’s halfway into chastising the lack of basic safety measures when he finds Rory adjusting a haphazard pillow pile on the bed. Lorelai, cast-legged, pauses mid-groan when she sees him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner delivery,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rory zips forward in a rush of </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you’s,</span>
  </em>
  <span> peering into the bag and exclaiming:</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Chili fries!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She slings her free arm around his side and squeezes in what he assumes is a hug. He pats the top of her head like she’s a dog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought her chilli fries?” Lorelai says when Rory leaves for the kitchen, her eyes so big and blue Luke remembers suddenly that he can’t swim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you hardly have her eating solid food when you’re not bedridden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly what every incapacitated single mother wants to hear. She’s incapable of caring for her child, the light of her life, the fruit of her loin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not – I was just –“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she says. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, dropping the packet into her lap. She smiles. “Pretzels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke really wished he learned how to swim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Luke says, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb Rory’s elaborate setup. “When my sister was six, she broke her wrist, and I had to feed her for four weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you feed me?” Lorelai says, half muffled by the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already feed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>feed</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your hands not broken.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises a brow. “Not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t even make sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to make sense! I’m on painkillers. I’m Courtney Love in Boston!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fiddles with the packet of pretzels futilely, and he lets her struggle for a moment before reaching over to rip it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a great friend,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what I am? Because I thought I had the whole butler thing down pretty well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends are butlers you pay in love,” she declares, then pouts. “Or maybe that’s hookers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re loopy enough without these,” he says, plucking the bottle of painkillers out of the rest of the junk on the bedside table. “They’re just multiplying your loops.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loop! Ha! That’s a funny word. Loop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Looop.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It sounds kinda like Luke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Luuuke.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He taps a finger under her chin, snapping her jaw shut gently. “Sleep now, strange one. I’ll be downstairs with Rory if you need anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorelai?” he says from the doorway. “I’d feed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head lolls to the side, smiling drowsily. “I’d feed you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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